The Cadillac Caper

My husband and his old flame, tangled up in his Escalade, wound up carbon monoxide poisoned.

Sixty years old and a total space cadet, all I could do was bawl and call my son, begging for help.

I was terrified, so weak, so helpless. "Brandon," I sobbed, "Your dad and… and… Delia are dying in the car!"

Brandon's voice was sharp with irritation, "Mom, can you just stop? Seriously?

"Dad and Delia are just old friends, why do you keep going on about this?

"Chloe's not feeling well, I don't have time for your drama!" And he hung up.

Tears streamed down my face as I stared at the two naked, unconscious bodies in the car.

I sighed, a deep, weary sound. If my husband actually croaks, how long am I supposed to spend blowing through his multi-million dollar fortune?

1.

I’d gone downstairs to find the cat.

Instead, in the underground garage, I saw, silhouetted against the dimmed lights, people inside our brand new Escalade.

Heart hammering, I walked closer.

Two nude figures, a man and a woman, twisted together.

The man was my husband, the ever-so-proper, stiff-necked Theodore Henderson. The woman was his college sweetheart, Delia.

Tears immediately welled up. I felt so useless, so fragile, so devastated.

My whole life flashed before my eyes.

Never had to sweat over a dollar, but my heart's been dragged through the mud.

I was the only daughter of a wealthy family in Chicago. Never lifted a finger, never made a meal, basically, a pampered princess. My brain wasn't exactly wired for rocket science. I married right after college and never worked a day in my life.

The Hendersons were my family's match.

Before tying the knot with Theodore, I had no idea he’d had this epic, heart-wrenching college romance.

But she was too poor, so his parents pressured him to break up with her. She took the payout they gave her, went back home, married some local guy and… that was supposed to be it.

Theodore was handsome, the type to make my heart skip a beat. He had ambition, and because our families merged, his company blew up into a mega-corporation.

He never liked my clingy ways, although, in the bedroom, he didn’t seem to mind them all that much.

Weird, right?

Like two different people.

Then our son, Brandon, came along. The delivery was hell, I almost died on the table. So I showered him with all my love.

But Brandon was a carbon copy of his dad, both stuffy and uptight. Neither cared for my teary displays.

Brandon worshiped the ground his father walked on, and they were thick as thieves.

Even when he was seven he was judging me: "Dad needs a powerful woman at his side, not some trophy wife who just shops all day. You've spent your whole life as a useless housewife, don’t you ever get bored?"

But no, I was doing great!

Designer clothes, million-dollar mansions, diamonds... who wouldn't have fun?

Was it my fault I was born into wealth?

Why is having a tough life supposed to be the only way to find meaning?

2.

Anyways, the two of them were alwa...